


Del Nuevo Mundo (From the New World)

by Alexgrand



Category: One Piece
Genre: 16th Century CE, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Basic Spanish words, Conquistadors, Friendship, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Indigenous people, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of proselytizing missions, Mexico, OOCness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Spain, Spanish is not my first langauge, Will be a few chapters before they meet, evangelism, mentions of slave trade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexgrand/pseuds/Alexgrand
Summary: Cook-turned-Conquistador Sanji Blackleg longs to cross the All Blue Atlantic into the New World. He joins an expedition led by an unpredictable, unhinged captain. Once they reach the unknown, a green-haired native makes Sanji wonder if gold and glory is all that he should be pursuing. Eventual Sanji/Zoro.





	1. To Seville

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I’m taking a lot of liberties here since this is historical fiction. As much as I tried using sources other than Wikipedia for information on life in the 1500s, it was hard to gather accurate info. There will be some anachronisms and the usual spelling/grammar mistakes.

Another night haunted by that vast blue. In his hay-stuffed cot, Sanji’s eyes opened to his own hand extending outward towards a mirage of treasure. Alas, the swaying ocean disappeared. The piles of gold became out of reach. Everything unobtainable once more. This routine never hacked away at the cook’s ambition. It did the very opposite.

 

Sanji lit the small candle in his room to shine light on the crumbled paper that remained hidden under the cot’s pillow. The sun had yet to rise for a hot day in Trujillo,  where rolling valleys looked beautiful glistening in nature’s morning dew. It was the perfect time for Sanji to enthuse himself about setting sail. Carefully holding the print to light, he traced a finger over the ink.

 

_Los Sombreros de Paja, l_ ed by Lupe De Mono. Wannabe explorers criticized Lupe as a crazed youth running from his fate as a modest Hidalgo. Risking his life to become the next Hernán Cortés. Sanji had never met Lupe in person. He kept his interest in joining the captain a secret lest Zeff the farmhand would never let Sanji hear the end of it. Sanji wanted to tell the farm owner about his plans to leave Trujillo to find Lupe and join his expedition.

 

Only disaster and disease awaited men at sea, Zeff once told Sanji several years ago. Actually, he overheard Zeff telling his long time hands, Patrício and Carne, the story of a ship that had set out into the Atlantic and never returned. When word of a successful conquest for the Spanish reached Trujillo, Sanji had quietly but excitedly soaked in all the details. Now he was twenty years old, an age where he could become a sailor and go out to sea. Curse the wretched Monastery! Why become a monk when others were out there conquering civilizations and becoming kings? The little that Zeff could offer him in wages was minuscule compared to the riches lying on the other side of the planet.

 

“ _Berenjena_ , you’re late again.” Zeff glared at Sanji as soon as he came into the farm house. The burly gentleman was tending to one of his cows. Those beady eyes were as callous as his experienced hands. There was some restraint in the tone he used to chastise Sanji, who figured the old man was too tired to pick a meaningless fight this early in the morning.

 

“I overslept.” Sanji grumbled.

 

Zeff tenderly patted his cattle before rebuffing Sanji’s excuse. “Bullshit. I saw that flier on your bed. Don’t let the sea become your graveyard, _mijo_.”

 

Sanji knew that he had spent more time than usual visualizing his escape from poverty. His heart raced at the thought of meeting Lupe De Mono, the thought of joining him in leaving a mark on the world. Sanji finally had enough saved up to travel to a center of commerce. Lupe De Mono would definitely be there. Now that Sanji was facing the man who had literally made it all possible by raising him and providing him with a roof over his head, he could not get the words out.  He left Zeff alone to join Patrício and Carne in the field where they either rounded up some of the pigs or harvested legumes.

 

The pair greeted him with a large bale of hay. They weren’t too thrilled about being left more work to do on account of Sanji losing track of time. Sanji offered to make up for it since he would need one of them to do him a favor. By midday the sun made its presence known throughout the countryside. All three men took a break to cool down and re-hydrate.

 

“Hey, Patty, could you lend me Baratie tonight?” the blonde approached the buff worker. Carne could hear them. Zeff was still tending to the livestock a fair distance from the river back at the farmland.

 

 “You’re asking me for Zeff’s horse? No thanks, I like my _cojones_  where they are.”

 

“I just need to head into town. I’ll send her back.” As Sanji wiped his sweaty yellow bangs out of his face, he could see the hesitation in Patrício’s.

 

“¿ _A dónde vas_ , Sanji?”

 

“ _A_ _Sevilla_.”

 

The aged lines on Patrício’s features formed an expression Sanji couldn’t read. Patrício muttered, “So you _are_ going to join that lunatic. _Olvídalo_.” He then joined Carne further down the bank side. 

 

So nightfall it would be. Sanji could wait. He still had clothes and provisions to pack in his satchel. The rest of the working day was going to pass like molasses but it was all the more time for being mentally prepared to leave Trujillo. When the harsh sun finally allowed the moon to shine its nocturnal light, Sanji snuck back into the ranch in search of Baratie.

 

He found the gorgeous breed in her stall chewing at some feed. Sanji attempted to coax the horse out of her stable. She was familiar with him, but clopped backwards out of disobedience. He tried to not fall into despair for trekking to Seville on foot meant missing a chance to meet De Mono. “Shhh, _vente aqui_ , Baratie.”

 

“Untie her first,” Zeff gruffly instructed from out of the shadows. A thick wooden cane tucked underneath one of his arms, crossing the other in a menacing pose. Sanji stared back dumbfounded. How foolish to think Zeff, a light sleeper who slept with one eye open, had been completely off guard. The farm owner removed his cap, ran a hand through his own patch of yellow hair before sighing. “Taking my horse without saying goodbye? _Berenjena_ _idiota_.” 

 

He thought right then and there Zeff was going to beat him senseless. The man hopped forward, reached for something inside his rags, and tossed a pendant towards the protégé. It was a small cross, glistening gold. In disbelief Sanji traced the edges of the crucifix, thumb shaking as it touched the hard surface.

 

“Promise you’ll bring it back to me.”

 

Sanji lifted his head in surprise at Zeff’s words. Tears threatened to course down his cheeks, now red from Sanji having been startled. Though there were so many questions, he decided that it was best to keep going while Zeff was feeling generous. They managed to safely get Baratie on the road before Sanji mounted the horse.

 

“Three days. After that, send her back. If you’re not dead already.” Sanji nodded in understanding, failing to deny the pain in Zeff’s not-so-fatherly farewell.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“ _Dios te bendiga_.”  The old man turned away, back toward the farm house. Sanji lingered on the dirt road until Baratie huffed impatiently. No more time to lose.

 

De Mono would be leaving the Iberian Peninsula soon.


	2. Tormenta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the year of the lord 1524, Carlos I de España continued to finance exploration of the New World. Cavaliers set out to expand the crown’s rule, convert the uncivilized to Christ, and receive God’s grace in the form of gold. Oceans carried some who emerged wealthy from their ventures and others who met gruesome fates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve done a huge revision to this chapter to make sure the story goes in the direction I envisioned. Hopefully this direction is an improvement? I don’t want to half-ass this. Y’all deserve FULL ASS. Also, if you’re feeling generous, any feedback is appreciated!
> 
> As for the slow update, I went in for an ultrasound but ended up getting an unscheduled C-section! I LOVE my baby!!! It's hard to take time out to write so I've been squeezing in some pages whenever he isn't being fussy. Which is almost never. Apologies for any misspelled words or bad grammar. Please enjoy!

 

An unforgivably scorching hot sun welcomed Sanji and Baratie to Seville. Entrusting Zeff's horse to a carrier service drained the remainder of the cook’s funds but ensured a safe return home for Baratie. To avoid making the bittersweet parting from his equine friend a long one, Sanji occupied himself with racing towards the docks. Seville's port was magnificent even through the maze of people. A ship could sail into the All Blue at any moment.

 

Beyond the fray of seafarers, Sanji caught sight of Lupe De Mono, standing picturesquely on the bow of a grand ship. He was print come to life, Sanji’s poster in the flesh. The captain did not give a speech or make any empty promises to the hundreds watching him. Lupe simply opened the ship’s boarding ramp to let the brave come forward. Sanji stood petrified in the stampede that followed. Courage made the blonde reach for the cross around his neck and join the other Conquistadors.

 

Living on a ship was not all Sanji had thought it would be. His first month at sea was chaotic. The Straw Hat Crew’s enormous body count made a decent salary or more importantly a proper meal difficult. On and below deck each of the crew members slept shoulder to shoulder, their pungent body odor and the ocean's salty spray intermingling in an assault on Sanji’s nostrils. Whenever anyone caught fish there was hardly enough to go around once it was cooked. Fires for turning raw sea life edible were usually extinguished by frequent rainfall. Once rats and maggots got into all of the food, there was only tasteless, dry bread left. No more of Zeff’s home cooked lamb or his fresh vegetables. Adventure did not seem so sweet anymore.

 

 Sanji met a man named Gustavo hailing from Villanueva de la Serena, a village not too far from Trujillo. Over the course of a few weeks the two bonded, often sharing their plans for after the expedition. Happiness briefly embraced Sanji but he soon noticed that Gustavo was beginning to show signs of fatigue. Furthermore, the color of Gustavo’s gums was turning darker by the day. Much like the skies they sailed under.

 

The health of De Mono’s men was also taking a turn for the worst. One night when Sanji was carrying out his watch on deck, he witnessed the blackened corpses of sailors being tossed into the sea. When he returned to his quarters, Gustavo was nowhere to be seen. Days dragged on. More bodies were thrown overboard.

 

Gustavo never reappeared.

 

 “ _Oye_ , Sanji,”

 

Antony Antonio, better known as “Chopper” for his infamous way of handling limbs lost to disease, called out to a daydreaming Sanji. At his third month on board, Sanji had been appointed laymen to assist the barber-surgeon’s operations. They refocused on their patient, sporting an arm tinted charcoal. Another victim of the “black disease” spreading throughout the cabin. Sure enough after assessing the sailor’s body, Chopper looked to Sanji for a tourniquet to be prepared. Dread filled Sanji at the thought of yet another amputation but he calmly secured pressure on the soon to be one-armed sailor's limb.

 

 “ _Si, así_.” Chopper withdrew his surgical blade. Sanji could see himself wincing in its reflection as the doctor brought the device down. It was worse than butchering animals back on the farm. Carving a four legged creature up never weighed on Sanji's conscious but crippling his mates did.

  

Chopper tallied the week's body count and suggested that they report to De Mono. Before going to meet the captain, Sanji could sense another rainstorm approaching. They entered the captain’s cove, lit by a single candle. It sadly reminded Sanji of home, where he'd light a small wick next to his cot at night to look at De Mono’s poster back in Trujillo. Oh, if only he could go back to those simpler times! Why had he not listened to Zeff and stay on the farm?

 

“Captain,” Chopper formally greeted De Mono and interrupted Sanji’s reminiscing. Lupe rose from his desk, littered with maps and navigation tools. Upon first glance he appeared almost as young as Sanji. His obvious lack of nutrition, which the entire crew was also suffering from, made him appear fragile and weak. No one was in excellent health.

 

Lupe looked to Chopper and immediately understood the physician's pained expression. The death toll was on the rise. Listlessly, he dismissed the barber-surgeon and Sanji by extending a hand towards the door. Chopper left to tend to his next patient. Sanji prepared to follow suit but De Mono’s voice, which still managed to be booming despite his frail appearance, halted him.

 

“You’re not the same layman from last month. ¿ _Cómo te llamas_?”

 

“Sanji _.”_

 

The captain sat down at his desk and pulled a bottle of rum from underneath it. “Has a month at sea caused you to forget your last name?”

 

“No, sir. It’s Blackleg.”  

 

Lupe's brown eyes studied Sanji for a good minute. “ _¿Quien te dio esa cruz?_ ” he raised a finger to Sanji’s chest.

 

He realized that Lupe was referring to the golden pendant resting against his heart. The chain must have been easy to spot since Sanji was nothing but skin and bones beneath rags. “Someone important to me, Captain.” he answered after a pause.

 

Lupe took a hearty swig of his liquor. “It’s kept you alive. _Gracias a Dios_.” He motioned for Sanji to partake. There was no use in refusing. Barrels of water had spoiled long ago and alcohol served as the main thirst-quencher.

 

“You’ve sailed to the New World before, Blackleg?” De Mono was still eying Sanji’s cross as he spoke.

 

“Back in Trujillo I was merely a farm hand. I've never had the privilege to travel far.”

 

“Farmhand? So you understand slaughter.” De Mono mused. “We’ll be reaching _La Habana_ soon. Once we get there, I do not want you wasting your time as a layman under Chopper. I'd much rather have you commanding one of my armies.”

 

“Oh, but I can’t even wield a sword.” Sanji protested.

 

“God will help you fight those New World _salvajes_.” De Mono confidently claimed. “You don’t think the savages are just going to fork over their gold, do you? They’re an uncivilized people who worship many Gods. Cortés said so himself.” De Mono muttered before intensely consuming more of his drink. Sanji watched the man’s protruding Adam’s apple dance up and down.  

 

It became clear, the reason for his captain's frustration. De Mono had something to prove and everything to lose. His reputation was riding on the success of his expedition yet the likelihood of him returning to _España_ as a wealthy man let alone a living one was questionable. Constantly comparing himself to Cortés, Lupe wanted to be a better Conquistador. He was failing, however.

 

To Sanji there was so much lacking in Lupe's leadership. Until they finally met face to face the layman was convinced that Captain De Mono was mad. He refused to share his personal cattle for consumption on the basis that he did not wish to catch or spread disease. Scarcity of money stemmed from the fact that there wasn’t any money to begin with. De Mono was more than likely elbows deep in debt with the Crown who was financing both his ship and expedition. Indeed, De Mono was no Cortés.

 

Above them the two men suddenly heard crew members panicking and shouting before something began rocking the ship. Sanji wanted to bolt out of De Mono's room to see what was going on but the captain asked for him to stay back. When water came gushing in the very next moment, Sanji and Lupe fled the area as it began to flood. Sanji wondered if a cannonball had struck them. What else could rip open De Mono’s ship like that?

 

Once they were above ground they could see that Mother Nature, not an enemy ship, had them under attack. Her lightning bolts and strong winds easily tore into their home. Bodies and planks were hitting the water in droves. Chopper was near the helm trapped under a piece of fallen debris. Some of the sailors were trying to rescue the physician but couldn't secure a grip in such a slippery downpour.

 

When De Mono managed to catch up to the doctor it was already too late: neither Chopper nor the men attempting to save him could be spotted in the rubble. Grief and horror could be seen in the captain's face. There was no time to mourn, only to survive. Quickly, he began shouting orders to the surviving crewmen.

 

“Secure the sails! Don’t let everything get blown away!” Lupe could hardly be heard over the storm. Sanji was holding onto the sinking ship by one of the ropes stabilizing the sails. He chose to disregard De Mono’s order and loosen the sails in hope that the ship could still make it out of the storm.

 

“ _Que estás haciendo Blackleg!?_ We can't sail through this!” Lupe bellowed.

 

Sanji frantically searched for something to cut the knot holding the sails together. “We can't outlast it either!”

 

Lupe carefully climbed to Sanji's side holding a dagger that he retrieved from his person. Several breathless seconds passed as the captain ran his blade along the rope. It finally snapped, striking Lupe like a whip and throwing him off balance. Sanji caught him just in time and held on to the man's wrists. Unfortunately his grip could not save De Mono, who was slammed into the sea by a crushing wave. Sanji screamed for his captain but heard only tumultuous waters. Soon the mast that he was clinging to was going to give and Sanji would be underwater as well.

 

In a desperate prayer he wished for death but stopped himself. No way in hell he was going to prove Zeff right. The seas were not going to be his final resting place. Sanji grabbed hold of his golden cross one last time. Despite the rain he could feel warmth radiating from it. All Blue’s wrath continued to tear De Mono’s ship apart. Before the mast could break Sanji closed his eyes and dove into the deadly abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter is in the works. Have a good weekend!


	3. Ostotl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Religion, history, and politics intersect in the context of this story. Rest assured, this is pure fiction. I’m not trying to make any statements here—other than Zoro x Sanji is my OTP.
> 
> Note on spelling and names: I’m using Zorro instead of Zoro to correspond with how it's spelled in Spanish. Some Nahuatl words will be in here too.

 

Chapter 3: Ostotl

 

The Mexica brought Ostotl to the capital of Tenochtitlan against his will when he was ten years old. His exotic hair, matching the verdant color of a jade, secured Ostotl’s place as a favorite among ruling figures and high priests. At fifteen he was made a courtesan, attracting both men and women. They fawned over his olive skin, admired how his ebony eyes rivaled the rich earth of mountains. Never did he spend a night alone.

 

Conquistadors arrived a decade later bearing their arms and diseases, slaying Tenochtitlan. Ostotl and many other slaves survived the massacre but they were all baptized, rechristened. Women married off, males forced to work the fields under a new economic system that rendered them poor. In the churches where friars shunned the familiar Gods and introduced Saints, Ostotl learned to call the capital _Ciudad de México_ , himself _Zorro_. Three years he spent unthreading his native language Nahuatl from his tongue to grasp Español _._

 

Zorro joined the campaign seeking to evangelize his home, _La Gran Chichimeca._ Recently it had been a graveyard for Spanish missionaries and militias. Governor Cortés demanded expansion of his conquest at any cost, however. In the name of the King of Spain and _Nueva España_ , Cortes appointed two lieutenants to spearhead the expansion: Francisco “Franky” Flam and Roberto Lucci.

 

On the day of their departure from _Ciudad de México_ , stallions were heaving wagons filled with cannons, muskets, crossbows, and shields through the valleys. Summer waves placed sheens of sweat on the soldiers. In the rear the crew’s only interpreter, Zorro, fell into a trance of recognition as he came across the grasslands. By evening Lt. Lucci settled everyone at a campsite. He took notice of how Zorro was enchanted by the scenery.

 

“You from these lands, boy?”

 

Zorro despised how upper-class Spaniards often talked down to him. Dignified, he replied, “Chichimeca do not believe in staying in one place too long. Our home stretches as far as one’s eyes can see.”

 

Lucci seemed intrigued. “Father Enel tells me that you serve our Lord. That correct, boy?”

 

“Aye, Sir.”

 

A pause. “Would you kill one of your own kind in His name?”

 

Surprise, no, disgust, almost shown on Zorro’s swarthy features.

 

Franky timely intervened, “Lucci, would you lead us in prayer?” The stockily built weapons expert pointed to a huddle of Lucci’s calvary that had gathered for prayer. “Of course,” the bearded Conquistador flashed Zorro a dark look before centering himself among his men.

 

Franky’s hand came down on Zorro’s shoulder. “ _Calmaté_ , he’s only trying to rile you.”

 

“I cooperate to prevent any more bloodshed but my people may not be so submissive.” Zorro whispered in Nahuatl. Franky could comprehend him; they knew each other before the mission. Occasionally Lt. Flam and his wife, a timid Native woman named Robín, attended church with Zorro. Robín translated scripture effortlessly, helped many slaves convert after the siege. She was ever pious. Sweet. Her blue eyes made Zorro wonder exactly where she hailed from. Made him wonder if the Spanish had done to Robín’s country what they had done to his.

 

Franky did not return any words immediately; perhaps he was processing Zorro’s warning. He finally shook his head, the hair on it so silver it shone blue in sunlight. “Lucci doubts your loyalty because you don’t worship him. The man thinks he’s God. Trust me, no one’s safe from his criticism.”

 

Or his greed. Back in the capital Lucci lived comfortably surrounded by concubines in the home of a priestess Zorro once made love to. Had the will of God really motivated Lucci to murder that woman the night Cortés stormed through Tenochtitlan? It made Zorro question his faith. So-called peacekeepers needing violence to maintain order. Where was the sense in that?

 

“How long since you’ve been here?” Franky glanced around them. Beautiful flatlands. A mountain range far beyond.

 

“I’m not sure. Eight years. Maybe more.”

 

“Robín told me what happened to you. It’s possible they’re still alive, your family?” Franky was digging into a scar Zorro had tried closing long ago.  The former slave watched soldiers closing their eyes and soundlessly moving their mouths to Lucci's sermon. Snakes of unease coiled around Zorro's spine as he listened to the wretched preaching.

 

“I have to tend to the horses,” the militant moved to a remote part of the settlement to escape Lucci’s rambling and Franky’s prying. Apologetic, Franky did not follow him. An hour or so later, however, the lieutenant came up to Zorro.

 

“How foolish of me to let one of the horses go!” he was rubbing that strong chin of his and comically pouting.

 

“What are you talking about? They’re all here. Count them.” Zorro had helped Franky take inventory before they left _Ciudad de México_. All fifty were surely there.

 

“No, one’s definitely missing. And going after a runaway takes nearly half a day on foot. You're better off looking for ‘er with Thousand Sunny here.” Franky playfully ruffled the dandelion mane of his own steed. The meaning of Franky’s madness dawned on Zorro. There was no missing horse. Franky was ordering Zorro to run away. Go find his family. “Francisco—”

 

“And in case things go awry,” the general unsheathed his sword, _Mille Fleur_ , Flam's magnum opus, a sword built and named for his dear Robín. Franky gave the green-haired Native a triumphant smile. It grew wider as Zorro displayed expertise in handling the blade. “Robín was right, you _are_ a fighter.”

 

“I’m out of practice.”

 

“Hope you never have to use it. Go, find home. _Vete de aquí_ , _Ostotl_.”

 

Before Lucci could bring an end to his own incessant tirade about being chosen to civilize the savages of Spain’s new colony, Zorro rode an impressive distance into _La Gran Chichimeca_. He did not stop until the plains transformed into forests. This was home.

 

He let Thousand Sunny drink from a spring near a clearing. By the time he finished setting up camp with what Franky had let him take, the air had gone cool, the sun was disappearing. Zorro walked through the jungle until a coastline entered his field of vision. Nothing about it had changed. The shore screamed nostalgia. As a boy, he thought the sea was an endless road to an infinite horizon. Now he knew better.

 

Placing his sandy bare feet into the water, Zorro considered turning back, giving up on his quest for the non-existent runaway horse and proving his loyalty to Lucci. In the current, a chain-like object snaked itself around the green hairs on his wrist. Zorro’s concentration shifted. Upon bringing his arm up for inspection, he a crucifix, _golden_. Zorro swam back to surface with his discovery in hand but something caused him to halt. An incoming wave had deposited something onto the beach.

 

A man’s body.

 

 

 


	4. Desconocido

4: Desconocido

 

Zorro trudged through waist-high waters to gain better access to the sight: someone half-buried in wet sand and covered in tattered clothing. Had it not been for the slight movements in the stranger’s chest, Zorro would have deemed the man dead. Another wave almost dragged him back out to sea but Zorro tugged him by the underarms so they could go further up along the coast.

 

Although reluctant to perform chest compressions, Zorro did so gently. No response. He crouched towards the man's colorless lips to resuscitate him but water suddenly spurted from the stranded survivor’s mouth. Desperate gasps for air, grunts of pain, and then steady breaths. In a raspy voice came whimpers. “ _Me duele_ …”  

 

A Spaniard. An injured one in need of a physician. Zorro did not dare travel in night's ensuing darkness, however. Chichimecans would spot them as easy targets. Better to wait until daybreak. After moving himself and the Spaniard to where Thousand Sunny lied, Zorro recovered his stash of pelts and rations. He built a fire to study his acquaintance’s wounds.

 

On the hand Zorro used to lift the dripping yellow strands out of the sailor's face, he remembered the golden crucifix tied around his fingers. His guest decided to wake up that very moment.

 

“I won’t harm you,” Zorro attempted soothing the other using Spanish. The stranger shot up but could only balance himself on two frail arms. “This is yours, isn’t it?” in the manner of a peace offering, Zorro held out the cross. The battered Spaniard snatched his amulet and stared wide-eyed, unfocused. Zorro mused at how the ocean and sky reflected in his eyes, a deep azure surpassing that of Robín’s or a Mockingbird's feathers.

 

“Are you alright? ¿ _Cómo te llamas_?” Zorro waited for a response but flames continued to cackle in the silence. At last his guest squinted at Zorro. “ _Usted sabe, Capitán._ _Me llamo Sanji…”_

 

In exhaustion the gentleman collapsed onto the animal hide below. Zorro checked his pulse. Slow, soft beats drummed against the Native’s fingertips. Captain. That meant this Sanji came from a ship. Had the governor been expecting him? He withdrew his hand after realizing his touch lingered a bit too long. Zorro had seen plenty of Spaniards over the last few years. This one's face was surprisingly pleasing though worn.

 

Despite the whirlwind that his thoughts had become, Zorro allowed sleep's mercy to overtake him. Pleasant childhood memories became his dreams but as morning approached, recollections of past lovers haunted his heart. Lust reminded Zorro of how long he'd been without someone. Since his emancipation, many of the Native women had been married off to Spaniards. Robín explained that Zorro could not be with a woman until marriage. He was too virtuous to lay with another man's wife yet he often fantasized of doing so.

 

Zorro missed contact. More importantly, he missed combat, his calling. When he had not been using his body to satiate the desires of the upper-class, he was training. Not for war or rebellion but for challenging Mexica gladiators. Defeating one in a duel meant being able to bed the loser later. Fulfillment like that after a battle scratched a sadistic itch, growing unbearable since the Spanish openly denounced relations between men. Joining the militia only satiated half the longing.

 

Across from him Sanji stirred, moaning lightly. The sound forced Zorro to refocus on the taut sensation torturing his groin. Constricting material in his pants did little to remedy the problem. Had he been wearing a breechcloth, taking care of himself would have been simple. Instead he wore what all missionaries did, pants, a tunic, a pair of shoes. Zorro shuffled quietly to bring his clothing below his hips. Once cold air met the sensitive skin of his tip, Zorro blew a quivering breath. He continued to push downwards until all of his manhood was exposed to daylight.

 

Deciding that his encircling palm would come closest to what he wanted to sink himself into, Zorro thrusted up, eyes closed. He found himself opening them, looking at the Sanji fellow. Last night Sanji appeared drained of all color. Today, a poinsettia-like redness that wasn’t blood stained his cheeks, lips, ears.

 

He tried going back to imagining someone else squirming in pleasure beneath him but the Spaniard would materialize every time. Zorro rolled over, shutting the imagery out his psyche, yet he couldn't stop picturing spilling his seed into Sanji. There was no shame in an unexplained affinity for another male. It was the fact that such a fragile one managed to wield power over Zorro by looks alone.

 

Right after he finished, Zorro bathed in a nearby river, destroying any evidence of his actions. The waterfall in the distance calmed him. He still had the urge to carry Sanji, plant him face down in the sand, and engulf him the way the waves had. Such thoughts aroused him once more. Zorro spread his legs unto the grassy bank to repeat meeting his primal need.

 

He felt dirty for succumbing to a whim. Quickly he wiped himself off with his soaked tunic and returned to his hideout. Sanji's makeshift bed was empty. He'd probably wandered off. Droplets fell from Zorro's shirtless back and into the grass as the missionary knelt to gather his belongings. His intuition told him to turn around.

 

Sanji was carrying _Mille Fleur_. The thin Spaniard had it pointed at Zorro threateningly. “Where are the others? Did you kill them?”

 

“There were no others. Just you,” Zorro answered. “And you're still hurt. I can take you to get help—”

 

“You’re one of the _salvajes_. Why should I trust you?” Sanji edged closer. Zorro could tell Sanji was not a swordsman. His stance was off. The way he held the sword made it seem like he was torn between stabbing and swinging. Inexperienced.

 

Zorro humored him, “How can I be a savage if I speak your language? Now, put the sword down, please. ”  

 

Sanji moved the sharp blade closer to the Native's exposed skin. Mexico's sun rays shone through the treetops and made their location visible. They were bound to be spotted by a Chichimecan, Zorro realized.

 

“Where’s Lupe!?” at high volume the Spaniard unceremoniously yelled, his sudden outburst putting Zorro's guard up.

 

“ _Hush!_ You’ll get us both killed!” Zorro took _Mille Fleur_ into his palms, skin splitting open at the sharp end. Pain seared his hands in a white-hot fury but he welcomed it like an old friend. Zorro tried speaking up again but an arrow flew into the oak by Sanji.

 

A Chichimecan stepped out from the shadows into the bright clearing. Zorro knew that the vibrant headdress the sharpshooter wore indicated a warrior rank. Beneath the adornment lied a scowl. The shooter lowered their weapon and removed their feathers, revealing a Native woman. Large brown eyes, dark short hair. She spoke in a Nahuatl dialect. “Leave these lands now!”

 

Zorro turned his head and gaped at the markswoman. Beneath her cold glare he recognized the little girl who was raised alongside him. “Kuina!”

 

Brows knitting in confusion, the woman eased the tension in her shoulders and whispered, “Ostotl. I thought the Mexica had killed you!”

 

Sanji appeared disoriented by the unfamiliar language reaching his ears. Zorro felt the Spaniard's fear growing. He forced _Mille Fleur_ to the ground and sent Sanji staggering backwards. Kuina didn't miss a beat in resuming aim at the Spaniard's skull. “Stay back!” She ordered, ready to fire.

 

“No, don't hurt him!” Zorro exclaimed in Nahuatl. From the ground he laid in a heap on, Sanji let his trembling eyes dance back and forth between the two Natives.

 

“How could you defend a Coyote?” Kuina's fiery glare intensified as she stretched her arrow back even further from her bow. Zorro stood in front of Sanji with arms outstretched. “More Spanish are on their way here. They may be looking for him.”

 

Kuina begrudgingly disengaged. Her reinforcements crept out from the trees. She ordered them to stand down. She nodded at Zorro's hands and offered, “Leave the Coyote here. Come with me to a healer.”

 

“He needs one more than I do,” Zorro turned to Sanji, who was on the verge of fainting again. He had pushed himself too hard, Zorro thought. Kuina did not her hide her bitterness towards the Spaniard. She turned away to lead the other fighters back.

 

Zorro thanked Kuina as he lifted Sanji unto Thousand Sunny. “Hold on,” he whispered to the barely conscious Conquistador. On horseback they followed Kuina and her group. Zorro had some qualms about just what home had become during his absence. He felt Sanji slump up against his back and let his mind.  

  
  


_Promise you’ll bring it back to me._

 

Sanji pried open his heavy eyelids. Children’s laughter echoed nearby. No longer did crushing waves ring in his ears. That nightmare of the All Blue had faded away.

 

He lay upright on a handwoven mat. A loose loincloth barely covered him. Numbness consumed his long brittle legs, tightly wrapped in bandages. Instinctively the blonde’s hand shot up to his neck in search of Zeff’s cross. It was there. Scars too.

 

Once his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, Sanji identified the walls around him as those of a tent. Through the split in its tarp a little girl snuck in carrying a basket. Hot maize filled the air, causing Sanji's belly to rumble. His young visitor jumped at the sound but reclaimed her balance and set the food down, giggling as she scuttled out the tipi.

 

Moments later someone entered again, snapping Sanji back into awareness. Moonlight shone on a Native man of towering height and lime-tinted locks. He was built like the men who worked in Seville’s shipyard. Water splashing in a basin cut Sanji’s admiration of the stranger's physique short. Without warning the Native ran a washcloth over Sanji's body. The self-appointed caretaker then proceeded to loosen the bandages around the Conquistador's legs. His hot palms pressing against Sanji's thighs made the blonde's breath hitch. He saw long scars along the honey brown flesh on the Native's hands and wondered who was foolish enough to try to fight him.

 

After a few minutes, Sanji's legs were freed. Being touched like that, his privates almost bare before someone he did not know, it was possibly the most frightening experience in Sanji's life besides nearly drowning. Next, he was given one of the steaming corn husks inside the basket that the child had brought. Inside lied a tamale filled with vegetables and meat.

 

Sanji noticed the other observing him. Too hungry to care, Sanji devoured tamale after tamale until a fullness he had never known enveloped him. It was better than anything than the hard, stale biscuits on Lupe's ship.

Lupe. Images of the captain tugged at Sanji's dormant trauma. Did any of the other men onboard survive? Sanji wanted to find them. He couldn't have been the only one to make it to shore.

 

“The others, where are they?” He tried to get up but his legs were numb.

 

“You already asked about them, Sanji. Don't you remember?”

 

“Who—How do you know—where am I? _Hablas Español_ …”

 

The Native introduced himself as Zorro. “I lived in the capital that Cortés took over. He made Spanish the official language. Right now, you're in territory that Spain hasn't conquered.”

 

Sanji's fingers tightened around Zeff's cross. He made it to _El Mundo Nuevo_. “Were you supposed to be meeting with Cortés?” He heard Zorro question.

 

“No, I... _we_ were sailing here for, for—”

 

“Gold.” Zorro muttered knowingly. “There's a Spanish militia headed this way. They'll probably run into other tribes before this one but I fear war may be imminent.”

 

The Conquistador grew concerned about that prospect. “Can we stop them?”

 

Zorro shook his head. “We have a bigger problem. Your trial.”


	5. Tres Almas

"I buried her here." A solemn Kuina kneeled to the ground. "She went peacefully, Ostotl."

 

Zorro thanked his long-lost friend. Seeing the grave of his _N_ _antli_ hurt. "You have lost as well," he joined Kuina on the grassy floor. Their shoulders brushed against each other.

 

"Yes, during a Mexica raid. My husband died an honorable death defending our daughter."

 

After hearing those words, jealousy singed Zorro. He couldn't have expected Kuina to wait around for a boy presumed dead. Now that the Mexica had left Kuina without a life partner, he wondered if she would pursue another relationship.

 

"And your daughter?" He struggled to entertain the thought of Kuina having a child. Creating the future generation was a great responsibility. One that his mother proudly took on for him twenty-eight years ago. Zorro let his bleeding hands press into the dirt. If only he could give life to the one who gave him life.

 

"Izel. She turns nine this Winter. Her birthday marks seven years since I became leader of the warriors."

 

Sadness crept into Zorro's heart. Seeing this side of Kuina, one cold in nature, greatly displeased him. "I hope there will come a day when we won't have to fight anymore."

 

Tension between them returned. Kuina got on her bare feet. She placed her headdress over her short obsidian hair and called for her men to continue into the village. Zorro followed her militia to a hut of Elders where a council sat encircling the returned cavalry.  

 

“Ostotl,” the oldest among them warmly greeted Zorro. “The Gods have been merciful in bringing you back home after all these years!” Curious children nearby abandoned their games and horseplay to eavesdrop. Though night had fallen, a bright cheerfulness spread through the village. Until Kuina then instructed her soldiers to place Sanji's unconscious body before the council. A silence followed by whispers.

 

 _Coyotl_.

 

“This Coyote is not alone! More are coming to take our land and enslave our people!" Kuina openly declared. Zorro, terrified that he would have to go against his only friend, quickly intervened.“No, what the Coyotes truly want is our turquoise.”

 

“Do you hear yourself?  _Teocuitlatl,_ not _Teoxihuitl_. Your mother tongue grows weak, Ostotl. As have your skills in combat." Kuina used force to spread Zorro's wounded hands open.

 

"The Coyote did this to him!” She shouted. Mumbles of disapproval sounded.

 

An elderly Chichimecan woman stood. “You must take this Coyote back to its kind before we can accept you here.”

 

“I cannot face the Coyotes again,” Zorro protested. “After they conquered  _Tenochtitlan_ , I became their prisoner. In my desire to be free, I ran. Would any of you have done the same?”

 

“We can either stay here and prepare our defenses or face their armies head-on.” Kuina gave Zorro's question no consideration. Her warriors voiced their favor for her suggestion.

 

"What could spears do to a cannon? A crossbow?" Zorro’s rebuttal did not have the intention of implying that the Chichimecans were weak but Kuina twisted his words that way. Both sides erupted into a bitter debate about Zorro’s faith in the Chichimecas.

 

At last the Chief quelled the commotion. When he stood the entire conjugation went quiet. “Ostotl has been among both Mexica and Coyotes for years. What he has to offer is better than us throwing our lives away!"

 

Kuina and her rowdy backers hushed. Zorro took the opportunity to suggest how they still had time before the Spanish would come to negotiate. “Let us keep this man alive. I will look after him. When he can speak, put him on trial. Killing him now would make us no better than our enemies.”

 

Hand trembling, another council member pointed to Sanji and ruled, “Let Ostotl see to the Coyote's recovery!”

 

Incense was thrown into a fire pit to mark the verdict. Shortly afterwards Zorro's homecoming ceremony began. He remained at odds with Kuina and her warriors but the reunion with his brethren was festive. The Chief presented Zorro three piercings to adorn his ear with as the festivities drew to a close. Zorro watched as Kuina's company carried Sanji off to his assigned dwelling. Another chance at being alone with the Spaniard again teased at a dormant desire inside his heart.

 

The beige tarp of Zorro’s new tipi could not compare to the golden walls in the palaces of Tenochtitlan but he had to abandon all ties to the past. No longer did his body serve as a vehicle for transgressions. Here he could finally make peace with himself.

 

He was finally home.

 

" _Notoca Izel_ ," a tiny girl bearing the likeness of Kuina later entered his tent carrying a basket. Inside of it meat wrapped in corn husks captured the attention of Zorro’s stomach. He accepted the kind offer. "Nice to meet you, Izel."

 

She stole a glance at Sanji. "He's not scary."

 

"No, he really isn't." Zorro began using a salve one of the healers had placed in his tent to calm the burning in his palms. The child could easily see the damages no matter how hard he tried to shield her docile brown eyes from them.

 

Izel twisted at the ties on her deerskin dress and mumbled, "So the Coyote really did hurt you."

 

"It was an accident. I've already forgiven him." Zorro smiled. "The less enemies I have the more peaceful my soul can be."

 

"I've never heard that word before. _Alma_."

 

Once more Zorro had misspoken. The juxtaposition of his old and new beliefs spilled over into how he spoke. Chichimecans believed a man possessed three souls but the Spanish preached that man had only one. Rather than admit that his torn identity was corrupting his command of Nahuatl, he lied and told Izel that  _Alma_  came from a dialect.

 

Abruptly Kuina threw the opening to Zorro's tent open. Her glare meant socializing time was over. Izel wished Zorro good night before running back to the other children.  

 

"She's nothing like you." Zorro wrapped bandages around his palms. He contemplated putting on the piercings the Chief had given him but decided against it. He had seen enough gold in his lifetime.  

 

Kuina held the tent entrance to keep an eye on her daughter. "Izel spends her time cooking and harvesting. Warfare does not interest her."

 

"Disinterest in warfare is not a bad thing. Why not break bread?"

 

The laugh Kuina let out unnerved him. "Break bread? How strange the words those Coyotes have poisoned your mouth with." She left without saying good night. 

 

Half a lunar cycle passed without the Spaniard opening his eyes. Zorro looked after him every day. Izel visited whenever her mother went off to train or hunt. There was no limit to the girl’s talent in making food that Zorro enjoyed. She reminded him of his own mother.

 

What would  _Nantli_  think of Zorro now?

 

Zorro pondered this while bathing Sanji one morning. Sunlight had yet to put their shadows on the tent walls. Darkness gave them privacy. Letting the wet cloth slide down Sanji's long neck, Zorro felt feverish. He was well aware of how young Chichimecan women threw themselves at him but Zorro could not reciprocate. Kuina was spoken for; war had become her one and only lover

 

He pulled Sanji's back closer to his chest and continued a thorough cleansing of the dirt that clung to his limbs. Zorro’s nose inadvertently sank into the Conquistador’s golden hair. Next he ran the washcloth over Sanji's protruding ribs, the dips in his belly, the light trail of curls leading to the one place Zorro fought to keep his focus away from.

 

Yet beneath the thin rag Zorro understood the outline of Sanji's anatomy. Running a hand along the base of his manhood to its bulbous end in excessively slow strokes, Zorro noted the foreskin had been removed. It was common among the Mexica men that Zorro had known but he never expected to share a commonality with the Spaniards in the practice. His hand fell underneath to cup Sanji's sac, soft and low hanging. Through his washing cloth Zorro stuck his index finger out to lightly graze at the tight entrance further down. He stopped cold once he felt his hardness stretching his loincloth.    

 

Sanji was lain on the animal hide to dry off. From his kneeling position Zorro could trace the path of every moving droplet. Kneeling between Sanji’s legs gave him access to every angle of his body, weak and fragile. How could an emperor mistaken the Spaniards for Gods? Zorro did not Sanji as anything more than a mortal. Such ignorance allowed the Spanish to conquer what was once a powerful city. The night Texcoco ran red with the blood of Zorro’s masters played out again in his mind.

 

Like a coward he hid and watched foreign weaponry claim the lives of the Mexica. How he wished he could have grabbed a weapon, marched before one of those Spaniards, and stabbed him in the chest! But Robin taught him pacifism, mediation, prayer. Now it meant nothing: his well of patience had dried up. He leaned forward until his cheek collided with the flesh of Sanji’s inner thigh. He hadn’t given anyone pleasure or pain in so long. What held him back?

 

As timely as ever, sunshine crept into the hut and dispersed Zorro’s thoughts. Today the village was going to celebrate the Autumn harvest. He had offered to watch over the children while the others prepared the food. Oddly dissatisfied, Zorro left his tent to meet up with Izel and the other children.

 

They were chewing on  _nopalli_ and tossing around a ball. One kick too hard sent it flying at Zorro, who instantly caught it in one smooth sweep of his arm.

 

“You’re fast. I don’t understand why my mother insults your abilities,” Izel ran up to Zorro to retrieve her toy. Zorro frowned. Kuina wasn’t the type to ease up on insults. Even when they were children, she attacked him verbally and physically. Back then there was some fondness beneath her cruel actions but now Zorro wasn't so sure.

 

By midday Zorro thought to bring the children back to the village. Hours easily went by as he watched them in the open fields chasing rabbits, picking at insects, and gathering more edible cacti. Izel especially sought out the best roots and herbs. She knew what was poisonous and what was ripe for taking. Meanwhile her friends threw whatever they could get their hands on at each other. No, war did not interest Izel in the slightest.

 

Back at the campground the villagers had transformed the landscape into a feast. Colors of every fruit and vegetable imaginable littered the blankets set up outside. From the tiniest of babes to the oldest of men each Chichimecan had their full. Well into the night they danced around fires singing songs that tugged at Zorro’s inner child. Izel burst through the crowd to relate to Zorro how she saw the Conquistador stir in the tent when she went to leave Zorro tamales. The Native stormed back to his tipi.  

 

Sure enough he was awake, covered in perspiration. Zorro instinctively grabbed a tub of water to cool Sanji off. He could feel the other go stiff. To ease the frightened stranger’s mind, Zorro gave him Izel’s basket of tamales. Sanji ate with abandon.

 

Eventually he asked again about “the others.” Confused, Zorro wondered if the Spaniard had lost recollection of their disastrous meeting. When he told the wide-eyed sailor about everything that had happened, Sanji stared back in shock. Shock from seeing a Chichimecan that could speak Spanish. Shock from being told that he was to be put on trial.

 

A loud trumpet cut their conversation short. Both Zorro and Sanji knew the sound marked the arrival of Spanish military. Zorro nearly dashed out of the tent had Sanji not reached for his arm. "I have to tell them about De Mono! Will you carry me to them?"

 

Zorro dreaded the possibility of seeing Lucci again but he did as Sanji asked. Outside the tent he identified Lucci’s progression of foot soldiers pouring into the encampment. Their horns blared over the cries of children. Lucci moved to the front of his regiment.

 

"In the name of King Carlos V, we claim this land for  _Nueva España!_  Renounce your barbaric ways and find true salvation in Jehovah!"

 

The Chichimecans were lost for words. No one understood how to respond to Lucci's fervor. In frustration, the lieutenant signaled for his men to aim their guns and cannons. Screams erupted among the villagers.

 

"Stand down! They can't speak a language they don't understand, Lucci.” A deep voice within the troops bellowed. A General came forward donning a lavish uniform. He had his arms hidden behind his boulder of a back and his mouth curved into a sly grin. From where he carried Sanji, Zorro could see one long old scar stretching over the bridge of the man’s nose. His skin as dark and grainy as burnt sand.

 

The mammoth of a man revealed his hands to the villagers to show no ill intent. One of his hands was a hook, large and golden. That’s when recognition crossed Zorro’s mind. Robin had told him stories of a slave owner who infamously lost a hand while crushing a slave rebellion in Hispaniola. A brutal Conquistador more savage than those he accused of being uncivilized.  _Señor Cocodrilo._

 

Her spear by her side, Kuina approached the General. Lucci's men resumed aim but only at her. Izel began crying.

 

"Stop!" Sanji interjected. He asked Zorro to bring him to the center of the standoff. Within the crowd of Spaniards Zorro saw Franky’s expression of relief juxtaposed with Lucci’s death glare.

 

“My name is Sanji Blackleg. Member of the Strawhat Crew under Captain Lupe De Mono.” He humbly presented himself to General Cocodrilo. “These people have taken care of me after De Mono’s ship crashed.”

 

Cocodrilo’s eyebrow shot up. “There were survivors?”

 

Someone else began shoving through Lucci’s missionaries. A second lieutenant, his freckled and clean shaven face covered in dark flowing hair that reached his neck. “Is De Mono here!?”

 

Sanji lowered his head. “I believe I was the only one who made it, Sir.”

 

“Did you even try looking for him? He’s your captain!”

 

“At ease Second Lieutenant Portgas! We have to report De Mono’s fate to Velazquez. The Crown has been wanting to know his whereabouts for a while now.”

 

“You speak of him like he was just another number. He was my brother!” Portgas angrily shouted.

 

“How is he any different from Blackleg?” Cocodrilo pointed his hook hand at Sanji. “Or Cortés? Do you think every man who ventures the New World knows how the ocean will carry them? Now, at  _ease_.” He successfully tamed his superior. Next he turned to Zorro. “You're the one Flam released. I’ll have Cortes forgive your debts if you convince your leader to submit to us. Otherwise, we have other ways.” A cadet wheeled a cannon close by.

 

Zorro called for the Chichimecan Chief. He hesitated but came forward and lent Zorro his ear.  “Submit to them or they will slaughter us,” Zorro whispered in Nahuatl. Sanji hung on to Zorro's shoulder watching in anticipation. The Chief gave them both a thoughtful look before nodding in understanding. He addressed his shaken villagers and announced that they would give their sovereignty to the Spanish peacefully.

 

Kuina’s fists tightened. She snapped her head to Zorro but he spoke before she could. “Kuina, if we fight, we’ll die. Think about your daughter.”

 

“ _C_ _an machpa tiuitze._ ” Kuina grabbed Izel by the hand and retreated to their tent as her warriors surrounded their Chief to throw down their weapons.

 

Cocodrilo’s eerie smile never went away. “Our missionaries will camp here. After that we hope to continue a peaceful conquest of the Chichimecas.” He waited for Zorro to interpret those words to the villagers. A shade of hopelessness fell over them as they acquiesced.

 

The hut of the Elders was made into the base for Cocodrilo and the other military officials. They wanted to sit down with Sanji first and foremost. Sanji requested that Zorro be there as he had been the one to save to his life.

 

Lucci bestowed a uniform to Sanji, who gladly put on the garments to fully cover himself. Cocodrilo’s eyes never left the golden cross around Sanji’s neck even as they sat across from each other in the spacious tent.

 

Sanji told them about the terrible night that brought him to the shores of Mexico. Portgas sat back and listened emotionally until he could no longer bear the thought of his brother passing. The lieutenant deserted the meeting to see to the missionaries setting up lodging with the Natives. When Sanji asked if he could meet up with Cortés, Cocodrilo replied that the Conquistador was no longer at the capital.

 

“This upcoming Winter he plans to sail for Honduras. Second Lieutenant Portgas will take one of my ships to Santiago de Cuba and the other will be joining Cortés. Perhaps when the time comes you would like to join our expedition?” The General’s offer came as a surprise to all the men in the room. 

 

Elated, Sanji wanted to accept. His sense of adventure revived itself. Why explore what the Spanish were already conquering? It would be more rewarding to explore the unknown. He asked Cocodrilo to let him think about it.

 

“Very well then,” the General took no offense to Sanji’s indecision. “Lucci will remain here to follow through on converting the villagers. When the month of January comes I will send for you. If you choose to remain here, there’s always a place for you in the capital as well.”

 

Sanji thanked the General before being carried back to his tent. Zorro could feel his stability coming apart. Had he really saved the lives of his people or did he just manipulate their freedom for his selfish gain? Exhausted, Sanji had already fallen asleep. Zorro listened to the rising and falling of the Conquistador's chest. He hoped that Winter would come soon. That religion conversion and subjugation was all the Spanish had in store for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Nantli means Mother  
> (2) Can machpa tiuitze means "where have we come from" or "weren't we friends?" in Nahuatl


	6. Corre Conejo

Chapter 6: Corre Conejo

 

In the coming months Zorro set out on helping the Chichimecans accommodate Franky, Lucci, and their hundreds of militant missionaries. General Cocodrilo and Second Lieutenant Portgas recruited some of the Chichimecans to mine gold. They found deposits of silver ores in the caves. Such news excited Sanji, growing inpatient at the rate at which his broken legs were healing under Zorro's care.

Every morning Izel snuck into Sanji's tent to drop off her daily batch of food. Zorro would usually be interpreting one of Lucci's sermons while Sanji was recuperating. Today the Conquistador noticed the little girl.

 

"Wait, you're the one who makes these?" He pointed to the basket and then to Izel.

 

She made a show of nodding her head. Two long ebony braids swung across her cherubic face. Then she shook it. Sanji only knew a few words in Nahuatl thanks for Zorro but in the moment he couldn't form a single coherent word.

 

 _"Tomalli_." She turned to the food.

 

Sanji gave up on trying and asked in Spanish how to make one. Izel joined him on the floor to eat alongside him. Her small yet quick hands picked her tamale apart so Sanji could see the ingredients inside. Afterwards she instructed him on the names of each herb and vegetable.

 

"Izel, Kuina's looking for you. She'll be angry if she finds out you were here the whole time." Bible in hand, Zorro intruded on the two. Sanji tried not to groan as Izel scurried away. If his legs weren't so busted he'd go out and get to know all the children. The Conquistador tensed up when he sensed Zorro was going to give him yet another bath.

 

Instead the other helped Sanji to his feet and asked if he could walk.

 

"Of course not, they're still broken!"

 

"It's all in your head." Zorro tried forcing Sanji to step out but the blonde fell forward into his arms, smelling of both sunshine and grass. Undeterred, the Chichimecan lifted Sanji onto his shoulders and left the tent for a nearby stream. Another warm day blessed the village. Cool breezes allowed the Sun’s blistering heat to be merciful.

 

The rays drew sweat from Sanji’s brow as he beat his fists on the blades of Zorro’s back. Sanji paused his struggling and took in the forest scenery. He saw that the treetops and the moss growing on their branches were no different from Zorro’s head.

 

" _Déjame, cabeza de musgo!_ "

 

It did nothing to stop the Chichimecan. Finally Sanji was set down at a river bank. Zorro shamelessly discarded what little clothing he had and dove into the water first. When he came up for air, he appeared more breathtaking than before. Sanji silently chastised himself for looking at Zorro that way.  

 

Lifting a wet arm out of the stream, Zorro waved. “ _Ven,”_

  
Sanji hesitated. “ _No_ _puedo...mis pies…”_

 

Zorro climbed up to the grassy bank soaking wet. Form where he sat Sanji could see everything he had only imagined lied beneath Zorro’s loincloth. Not even seconds into memorizing the contours of Zorro’s form he was swept off his feet and tossed into the dreaded aquatic pit. The night of the storm came rushing back to the Conquistador. Rather than the fish within the stream, corpses of fallen shipmates floated around Sanji. The sea and its heartless swallowing of screams filled Sanji’s ears. Water filled his lungs. He was paralyzed, sinking.

 

He sank into a memory of chasing butterflies outside Zeff’s farmhouse in the wake of a thunderstorm. The old man let the brat stay up with him. Anytime a rumbling tore through the farmland, Sanji found comfort in Zeff, who stroked his hair and called him a spoiled eggplant.  

 

“ _Te tengo, Sanji. Te tengo_.” It was Zorro holding him steady, not Zeff. The nightmarish terror slowly faded away. Zorro’s large hands were wrapped around his waist.

 

“One at a time. Like this,” behind his legs Sanji felt Zorro’s own legs propelling them forward. The water’s force provided plenty of resistance for his limbs. Sanji wouldn’t have been able to maintain his floating position had Zorro not been behind supporting him.

 

“ _Adelante_ ,” Zorro instructed, taut muscles lifting Sanji’s to kick outward. Sanji made ripples that reached further than he could swim. It frustrated him to no end. He loved the sea, fear aside. He could not sail if water scared him. “I can’t.” His legs were utterly useless.

 

“It’s not your legs, it’s _you_.” Zorro swam ahead of the blonde and grasped his ankles. Lightly tugging at the thin stalks of bone, Zorro pedaled them back and forth. Sanji leaned back into the water, encircling his reddening face. Closing his legs to hide his manhood was impossible the way Zorro separated his legs. This was worse than a bath. No point in hiding anything; Zorro had seen and touched every part of him. As Sanji swam in place relishing the texture of Zorro's callous palms, he thought about Kuina and how Zorro always seemed to be talking about her.

 

Sanji made his physical therapy a part of his daily routine. When he was finally able to use a cane to walk on his feet, he attended mass with Zorro. The Chichimecans found the custom quite amusing. It was unclear if Zorro was interpreting the Lord’s word correctly. Chichimecans often snickered as the green-haired Native interpreted Lucci’s long speeches.

 

“What are you really telling them, _Cabeza de musgo_?” Sanji confronted Zorro at one of their sessions. They took a break from practicing to let Zorro hunt for fish. Sanji envied how freely Zorro could move in the river.

 

“I tell them that Lucci eats shit,” Zorro stabbed the water with his spear, three fish struck through their gills captured on the end of the blade.

 

Despite himself Sanji chuckled. “I take it you’re not very fond of him.”

 

“No, I am not.” Zorro set the fruit of his labor aside and spun around to face Sanji. “I'm fond of you.”  

 

Sanji didn't know to react to Zorro's positive affirmation. He enjoyed Zorro’s company as well. “I thought you’d prefer that woman over me.” Sanji blurted. Why did he say that?

 

“Oh, Kuina.” Zorro stared pensively into the river. “She’s not a woman. She’s a warrior.”

 

“So you won’t marry her?” Again, Sanji had put his foot in his mouth. Zorro caught on to what Sanji was insinuating. “It wouldn’t be a wise choice.”

 

“But back at the capital, you had someone. An intended?”

 

Sanji saw something flicker in Zorro’s brown eyes before the caretaker muttered, “I was a courtesan.”

 

With that Sanji let the topic die. He crawled to the bank and let the cold water take him. Zorro reached out to help Sanji balance himself but the Conquistador requested independence. Zorro happily complied, observing from a small distance as Sanji gained a confident grasp of swimming unassisted.

 

“What’s a courtesan?” Sanji asked Lt. Flam after mass the next day. Zorro had gone with that day's designated crew to mine silver.

 

“Blackleg, you appear in very good health! Good to know Ostotl’s helping you prepare for your next voyage. What’s this about a Courtesan?”

 

Sanji reminded himself that Zorro was a name a Spanish priest had given the Chichimecan. “He told me he used to be one. I wasn’t sure what he meant.”

 

Franky’s voice lowered. “Ostotl was taken from his home years ago, back when _Ciudad Mexico_ was _Tenochtitlan_. They kept him in the courts where he, ah, entertained some of the elites.” The lieutenant excused himself as a Chichimecan child ran up to throw themselves on one of his legs. Franky was fluent enough in Nahuatl to earn their trust. Sanji felt motivated to learn more of the language himself but still wanted answers. Lucci’s tent was his last resort.

 

“Ostotl was a whore, a sodomite.” the bearded lieutenant spat as he sharpened the end of his sword. “Zorro, however, is a man whose soul Jesus has saved.”

 

The crass description of the person who had saved Sanji’s life made the Conquistador slightly angry. He could see why Zorro did not like Lucci. “Spain has taken nearly everything from him. Who cares if he is with a man or a woman?”

 

"Our King has given that savage a new way of life. And according to the Word, which you should be familiar with it, men do not lie with other men." Lucci ran his sharpening tool along his sword one last time. If there was peace among the Chichimecans and the Spanish, there'd be no need for weapons. Sanji became suspicious of Lucci's true intentions.

 

In blind rage Sanji left the tent of the Spaniards. Hunger struck. Izel was nowhere in sight so he went searching for her. It was risky snooping around her home but Sanji took the risk. Kuina caught him.

 

“Izel with bible and Flam.” She said in broken Spanish. Her attitude had improved since Zorro brokered the peace deal between the Chichimecans and Spaniards. She was reserved but resilient. In Zorro’s words, more warrior than woman.

 

“Oh, I’ll come back later.”

 

“Food?” Kuina rubbed her stomach and held her hand near her mouth. Sanji nodded but grew confused when the Chichimecan dashed into the tipi. She returned seconds later with two bows and a quiver arrows. “Kill.”

 

She took him to hunt in the woods. Sanji stayed light on his feet but keeping up with Kuina was difficult. She knew every path before her eyes could even see it. Her long legs crouched and moved gracefully. A plump hare hopped out in front of them.

 

Kuina was so fast that Sanji didn’t see her prepare any arrows. Yet somehow one pierced the animal in the blink of an eye.

 

Together they skinned the hare and roasted it over a small fire pit. “Izel talks about you.” Kuina tersely tore at the meat.

 

“Yes, we’re friends. I’m your friend too.” Sanji smiled.

 

“Sanji makes Izel and Ostotl happy.” The corners of Kuina’s lips twitched. Maybe she would have returned the smile had she not seen a rabbit in the bushes ahead.

 

“Kill,” Sanji was handed a bow and arrow. Was he supposed to drop everything and attempt to shoot like her?

 

Sanji's first shot went nowhere near the rabbit but into a tree. The four-legged target did not heed the warning so Sanji fired again. The second arrow landed right in front of the bunny. It bounced away fearfully. Kuina patted Sanji’s back.

 

“Good. Sanji good.”

 

On their way back to the campgrounds, Sanji picked at the moss on a tree. “Ostotl is moss-head.” he crushed the spores between his fingers. The Chichimecan laughed. How different she appeared from the person who tried to end Sanji several months ago!

 

“Ostotl’s eyes always on Sanji.”

 

“He looks after me, that’s right.” the Conquistador laughed but Kuina shook her head the way Izel sometimes did. “No, eyes _for_ Sanji.”

 

Kuina crouched once more and snuck over to a bush. She did not withdraw any of her arrows but gestured for Sanji to come over. Her hand pulled back leaves. Finger held up to her lips to ensure Sanji’s silence, Kuina indicated how she wanted Sanji to have a look. He kneeled to see what she saw.

 

Two rabbits fiercely copulating.


	7. La Verdad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the rating because of this chapter. It was part of Chapter 6 but I split it because it was really long (giggity). Hope you enjoy!

 

Signs of Winter in _Nueva España_ were not like the ones in Spain. Here the winds grew chillier but the heat was relentless. Zorro switched Sanji’s training from swimming to running. The cramps in Sanji’s legs came from the hours they spent outrunning the skies.

 

Day by day joy began seeping into what was once an uninspired Sanji. He could run after Izel through the gardens where they planted vegetables together. His archery skills improved after hunting with Kuina more frequently. Sometimes he’d treat her and her daughter in the morning with his own tamales or charred rabbit.

 

Zorro returned from mining one day convinced that the Spanish would be ready to leave his village in peace soon. There was only so much silver. They would have to move on and cooperate with a different tribe in the near future. He realized that also meant no more Sanji.

 

To take his mind off the idea of Sanji no longer being around, Zorro visited the forest. Shade that the trees provided was heavenly. Coincidentally Kuina was already in the middle of hunting sans Sanji, who probably stayed behind to play with Izel.

 

“You never put on your piercings.” She released three arrows into what appeared to be thin air. A thud followed. Zorro predicted she'd caught a deer.

 

“I no longer have three souls. Just one.”

 

“If you do not have three souls, how is it that you can still love? _Teyolia_ allows us to feel affection for others.”

 

Zorro thought of going to retrieve Kuina’s venison but she blocked his pathway. “I see the way you look at Sanji.” He was shocked she was actually calling the Conquistador by his given name.

 

“That kind of love is wrong.”

 

“Says who? Ostotl, those men know nothing but love for material possessions and power. You’re not like them.”

 

“What’s it to you? Not long ago you wanted nothing to do with Sanji. You wanted him executed!”

 

Kuina contemplated her response. “What was it you told me when we stood over your mother’s grave? 'There will come a time when we won’t have to fight anymore.' I see Izel bonding with Sanji and I finally understand what you mean. I’ve fought all my life, Ostotl. I don’t want to be at war with anyone anymore.”

 

When they returned to the village carrying the deer that was to be prepared for dinner, Zorro returned to his tent to find Sanji there praying.

 

“What are you praying for?”

 

“Zeff. He’s back in Trujillo waiting for me to come home.” Sanji fidgeted with his golden cross.

 

"He's your father?"

 

"I never met my father. He's the closest I've got to one."

 

Zorro never met his either. "Who else is waiting for you in Trujillo?"

 

Sanji shrugged, "Maybe Carne and Patricio. They're probably pissed that they have to do my share of the work on the farm now that I'm here."

 

_"¿Y tu mujer?"_

 

Caught off guard, Sanji stumbled over an explanation. "N-no. Well, I was to go to the monastery but no—a wife? I'm not…"

 

"Ok," Zorro could tell he unnerved the Conquistador. He decided to call it a night. Before falling into a slumber, Zorro took a small set of piercings out from underneath his bed of pelts.

 

“What’s that?” Sanji sat up. His lower body strength had improved.

 

“A homecoming gift the village chief gave me.” Zorro placed three dangling piercings on his ear. Sanji beheld their golden allure.

 

“It suits you.”

 

“Guess it does. People wore gold in the capital too. Jade is more valuable but all the Spanish wanted was gold.”

 

Sanji let a meaningful silence fill the tent. Making light of Zorro’s experiences at the capital was something he never wanted to do. There was much he did not understand about the Chichimecans, who had been so hospitable to him, and the Mexica. “How does one say gold in Nahuatl?”

 

“Excrement of the Gods,” the two reveled in the irony of the word. Colonizers were spilling blood over what the Natives saw as shit. So fitting yet tragic.

 

In the first morning of Winter, Sanji visited Izel, always glad to see her Spanish companion. Sanji tried to remember all the Nahuatl that Franky and Zorro coached him on but Izel begged him to speak in Spanish.

 

“Thank you for all that you’ve taught me Izel.” He hugged the child lovingly.

 

“If you go, who will cook with me?” Tears threatened to well up in her big eyes.

 

“There are plenty of other children who would be happy to make food with you.” Sanji assured her.

 

She sniffled before saying unexpectedly, “Ostotl will be lonely.”

 

“No, you and Kuina will be here with him.”

 

“But Ostotl loves you! That’s what he told my _Nantli_.”

 

No, that couldn’t have been right. Sanji told himself not to be fooled by Izel’s childish fantasies. In reality the Spanish would never approve of them being together. On autopilot, he said he “loved” all his friends. Izel pressed on, however. Sanji distracted her by taking her to the garden to harvest ripe vegetables. Even though he threw himself into his work, Sanji could not forget what Izel had revealed.

 

At their last session, Zorro seemed preoccupied, his head in the clouds. “Why don’t we try climbing?” he suggested after purposely losing to Sanji in a foot race. Uncertainty hacked away at the confidence Sanji had been building up all these months but Zorro told him it would be a good farewell challenge.

 

Swinging from the low vines was easy enough. Zorro encouraged Sanji to imitate his movements. Sanji paused at the base of a tree before grabbing a vine and climbing all the way up to a sturdy, thick branch. Now Zorro expected him to jump.

 

“You’ve never jumped trees before?” moss-head taunted.  

 

Sanji retorted, “Back in Trujillo I did.”

 

" _Entonces salta_."

 

Sanji stepped back. He ran until he had enough momentum to launch himself into the air. At the right moment he reached out for a vine and swung to the other branch. The landing was executed perfectly. Zorro jumped next. He was quicker but impressed with Sanji’s ability nonetheless.  

 

The blonde smirked in triumph “Told you I—” as he walked Zorro’s way he slipped. On moss, of all things.  

 

Luckily Zorro grabbed him by the wrist. It painfully brought back memories of the night Sanji lost Captain De Mono. But this time Zorro pulled Sanji up to his feet. The grip was too forceful. They went crashing against the tree trunk. Sanji felt Zorro’s arms wrapping around him protectively. In that moment not even the birds around them tweeting could be heard. Face crashed against Zorro’s pectorals, all that filled Sanji’s ears was the other’s heart beat.  

 

"Sail with me, Zorro." Sanji's lips formed the words against his caretaker’s throat. "I can't imagine going anywhere without you by my side."

 

Why didn't Sanji's plea sound like music to Zorro ears? He knew the Spanish would never see him the way Sanji did. Maybe the Chichimecans would let them stay together, even be lovers. Wishful thinking.

 

"I can't leave my home again."

 

Sanji backed away, remembering that they were both on opposite sides of history. And yet the happiness he felt every day, Sanji knew where it came from. Not from gold or silver but from being with people who cared about him. His heart lied on two distant continents. Love pulled him in every direction. It pulled him to Zorro, whose arm he desperately tugged at to capture the Native's lips.

 

Inexperience showed in the clumsy way Sanji's nose obstructed their kiss, the way his teeth clashed against Zorro's. It was still a kiss sweeter than the jam Sanji used to steal from Zeff on the farm. Sweeter than the tamales Izel made for him. Beneath that sweetness lied the bitter truth: Sanji had to choose between his dreams and his affections.

 

Slipping further into their embrace, Sanji let Zorro lead. Immediately he could understand the gap in expertise. Letting Zorro stir the path of his eager tongue and the pace of his aching heart came naturally. He held onto Zorro's shoulders for balance, his strong muscles tensing under Sanji's touch.

 

“ _Quiero estar contigo_.” Sanji confessed.

 

“Sanji,” Zorro planted light kisses along the Conquistador’s forehead, eyes, and nose. “My past—”

 

“I don't care who you were with back then.” Sanji fell back against the trunk behind them. He tore at his own clothes without any clue as to what he was doing. Zorro went two paces back to take in the Conquistador baring himself. After months of proper nutrition and activity, Sanji's body had fleshed out. No longer did he appear like the skeleton that Zorro had pulled from the sea.

 

The scars from the shipwreck had completely healed although a long visible one stretched across Sanji's shoulder. Zorro placed a hand on it, the rough texture of the old wound interrupting the cloud-like softness of Sanji's skin. Tucking his blushing face into the crevice between Zorro’s neck and shoulder, the Conquistador started undoing the ties of his first love's breech-cloth. As soon as he had Zorro nude, Sanji let their eyes meet. The Chichimecan was more than familiar with the expression on the blonde's face. Pure abandon.

 

Zorro dropped to his knees. They scratched against the branch's prickly exterior and bled. The pain only pushed Zorro to drive his mouth further up Sanji's thighs. Trailing his tongue along the salty quadricep, Zorro suckled until the area where hip met groin glistened bright red.

 

" _Aquí,_ " Sanji held his erection out. "It burns here." He placed his arms up against the tree to give himself more leverage in brushing the hard-on against Zorro's cheek.  

 

"I know that, _idiota_. Don't rush this."

 

"Sorry." Sanji apologized, breath hitching through the whole ordeal of waiting to be taken.

 

To the back of his throat Zorro inhaled Sanji’s length. Once his lips reached the base, Sanji tossed his head back and moaned for any living thing in earshot to hear. Out of embarrassment Sanji’s hand flew up to cover his mouth but Zorro pulled his lover’s elbow down. No one would cross their path this late in the day. An evening mist had already fallen upon La Gran Chichimeca. It cooled off their sweating bodies but did nothing to lighten the intense heat between them.

 

Sanji disregarded concern for being found and watched as Zorro’s restless, hot mouth consumed him. Both of Zorro’s hands grabbed hold of Sanji’s hips to set a rhythm that Sanji couldn’t keep up with. His legs threatened to give out from where he stood. His trembling fingers dug into Zorro’s jade hair. The Chichimecan’s position never faltered.

 

The last time Sanji touched himself was probably before the shipwreck. Death awaited him and his crew members each passing day. Too often Sanji thought about dying without ever knowing another person the way his mother knew his father. Zeff never spoke about them but Sanji liked to think that they were in love.

 

The bunk beds on the ship were too crowded for Sanji to carry out anything comfortably. Gustavo told him about the brothels in Seville that the man visited before joining the Straw Hat crew. He joked that a cock in a whore’s twat was heaven compared to the hell on earth De Mono’s ship turned out to be. But Zorro wasn’t a woman. How different would going inside him be? Being so close to knowing sent electricity traveling right to the part of Sanji currently coated in Zorro’s warm saliva.

 

Sanji felt his knees buckling. Evidently Zorro knew exactly what he was doing because he deliberately went slower to drag Sanji back from the high he almost hit. Over and over Zorro toyed with the Conquistador before the edge came rushing back to him. “Zorro,” Sanji warned, wishing he could have lasted longer. His endurance sank faster than the sun setting behind the mountains in the distance. Zorro’s hand rose from his hip to intertwine with his in loving encouragement.

 

It was like he truly was going to fall. Off the deck of a ship, the vine of an oak, or the precipice of a waterfall. There was no one else but Zorro who could catch him. Sanji knew the Native would never bring him any harm.

 

He let himself fall into the abyss.

 

His fingernails dug into the tree bark as Zorro drank every drop of come Sanji released. Shortly afterwards Zorro lowered him to branch surface. The recent orgasm still running needles along every sensitive part of Sanji’s body. “We should get down from here before it gets too dark.” Zorro’s reasoning cut into the afterglow.

 

“I don’t want to stop yet,” the Conquistador impulsively complained. Zorro seemed to ignore him as he began picking up their clothes.

 

“It’ll be easier by the river.”

 

They made it to solid ground before sunset. Zorro explained that tonight would probably be the last night of _icpitl_ mating season. Sanji half expected to see more rabbits breeding when they reached the river but halos of fireflies lit the area. Flying beetles lit a path for the lovers.

 

Zorro created a makeshift blanket from Sanji’s tunic and pants. The blonde rested on the grass. He didn’t mind the coolness that nipped at his arms and legs because Zorro was above him in seconds reigniting the flames spreading through their veins. Sanji grinned like a fool into their next kiss, taking Zorro by surprise.

 

“ _¿Por qué te ríes?”_

 

“Because I just thought about how I can come back after the expedition.”

 

“You wouldn’t return to Spain?” Zorro tapped at the golden cross on Sanji’s collarbone. He left a very noticeable cherry red love-bite there.

 

“Ah,” Sanji swatted at Zorro’s face playfully. “Maybe for a few months. Then I’ll finance a voyage back here to the New World.”

 

Zorro pictured himself waiting for Sanji’s ship to return like some lovesick maiden. It was humorous enough for him to mirror the Conquistador’s smile. “Just don’t drown.”

 

Sanji brought Zorro down for yet another kiss. He felt for the hardness between Zorro’s legs and was not disappointed when the back of his hand brushed against it. His was thicker. As Sanji’s curious hand wandered to Zorro’s anus his own erection burst into life. Nervously he asked Zorro if he could have him.

 

It was the easiest decision Zorro had ever made in his life.

 

In anticipation Sanji sat back following Zorro’s fluid movements. Zorro stuck two fingers into his talented mouth and inserted them where Sanji longed to put his explore soon. Sanji crawled near Zorro’s side to watch the Native squirming. His eyes then tried memorizing the angles Zorro was plunging his fingertips at. Zorro hissed once he found a spot Sanji hoped to be able to locate just as quickly. Similar to swimming, he had to actually do it in order to improve. So he calmly replaced Zorro’s fingers with his own, made wet by the water in the nearby stream.

 

 _“¿Es asi?”_ The scalding tightness pulsing around his ring and index fingers pumped blood back into Sanji’s groin. Zorro started moaning uncontrollably in Nahuatl and panting with his head thrown backwards into the sparkling grass below. Sanji chased after his lips until they were connected in a slow dance of tongues. “I can’t wait anymore.” the blonde broke from Zorro to line himself at the Chichimecan’s starving entrance. Zorro nodded, signaling him to remove his fingers and slide in home.  

 

As deep as their bodies would allow Sanji joined them together. He heard pleasurable howling before realizing they were his own. Zorro quietly lifted his hips from the ground to let Sanji ravish him further. Fearing he had caused the Native pain, Sanji stopped.

 

“Don’t stop,” Zorro whined.

 

Sanji resumed at an irregular beat. “I thought I was hurting you.”

 

“You— _ah_ —can’t hurt—” Sanji pressed his ear to Zorro’s chest and listened to Zorro’s vibrating voice as it faded into an incoherent babble of cries. It wasn’t until now he thought about how much he loved hearing Zorro speak Nahuatl. The unbridled way he reverted to his native language while tenderly reaching for Sanji made the Conquistador feel accepted.

 

Eventually Zorro began moving in sync with Sanji’s thrusts. The sensation, one Sanji had never experienced before, was indescribable. It was one worth sailing halfway across the oceans for.

 

“Don’t forget me while I’m gone.” Sanji’s hand found its way around Zorro’s neck. The Native sat up to deepen their hold and whispered, “How could I ever forget the one that I love?”

 

In the darkness of the night the flashing lights from the fireflies allowed Sanji to see Zorro’s face every few moments. Between the breaks where Sanji was blinded, he could make out every line of emotion drawing together Zorro’s heartbroken eyes. Sanji decided to swear his heart to this man and no other.

 

Zorro came apart first. The way he called out Sanji’s name as he convulsed made Sanji wish he could see it a hundred times over. A few more drawn out strokes later and the Conquistador returned the favor, letting his moans ring throughout the forest. He felt his seed filling Zorro to the brim. Whiteness dripped unto the garments underneath their perspiring bodies.

 

“ _Oh_ , aren’t you supposed to stop? Ah, Zorro!” Sanji prepared an apology for being so new to an act Zorro had probably mastered by now but Zorro stopped him from saying anything by rocking himself against the blonde excitedly. Two, three more times they continued searching for a limit to their desire for each other. Even as they lay on the ground spent and exhausted, Zorro never ceased dropping feathery kisses on his beloved’s skin. For the first time in a long one Sanji let a peaceful sleep take him from the world. No nightmares,no dreams Just the warmth of Zorro’s arms around him.

 

The next morning they bathed in the river together. Zorro held on to the grassroots of the riverbank as Sanji took him from behind. Sanji was not sure just when Portgas would arrive to send him to the coast. With much dread he returned to the village to prepare for his departure. Portgas showed up on horseback. “Blackleg, General Cocodrilo has sent for you,” the second lieutenant obviously had lost a spark of life from mourning the death of his brother.

 

Zorro helped Sanji mount his horse. “We should reach Cocodrilo’s ship by late afternoon.” Portgas muttered before setting off. Every instinct in Sanji’s body was telling him to stay but adventure awaited him. He looked down to Zorro and sadly smiled. Izel ran up to them beaming. “Zorro said you’re coming back!” Sanji comprehended her Nahuatl. He glared at his former caretaker. “You told her?”

 

“It was the only way to get her to stop crying.” Zorro lifted the girl unto his shoulders. Kuina appeared behind the two holding a basket of tamales. Like Izel did when they first met, the girl’s mother gifted Sanji one last meal for the road. Izel started getting teary eyed as Sanji’s horse took off into the plains ahead. Sanji could hear Zorro and Kuina assuring her that the Conquistador would never be too far away.

 

“The Savages took a liking to you,” Portgas callously remarked when Zorro and the others were nothing more than a speck behind them.

 

Sanji frowned, “Lucci and Franky aren’t coming as well? I thought the silver mining was finished.”

 

“It is. We’re done with them.”

 

Sanji decided not to pry and rode along the military official in uncomfortable silence for what seemed like hours. The verdant pastures they rode through reminded Sanji of Zorro. His heart began aching terribly. Not even the monotony of horse riding could ease the pain. Suddenly he wanted to see Zorro one more time.

 

At the coast Cocodrilo’s grand ship looked as if it could reach the skies and beyond. The crew onboard was a healthy lot of men. Sanji overheard Portgas greeting the captain, an abnormally tall blonde in a gaudy pink coat of flamingo feathers.

 

“I have one more, Captain Doflamingo.”

 

“Only another sailor? Where are the women?” eerily Doflamingo’s long tongue slithered out of his face to punctuate the last part of his question.  

 

“Cocodrilo requested that all the villages be burned. Wait until we reach Honduras.”

 

Sanji’s heart stopped. Burned?

 

“Second lieutenant!” he caught up to the man as he was about to climb the ramp into ship. “I thought I overheard you say the villages were to be burned. You can’t possibly mean the village I just came from!”

 

“Those were Cocodrilo’s orders. Now we have to leave. Cortés is heading to Honduras as we speak.”

 

Lucci was still there. Franky too. Would they really carry out such a heinous massacre?

 

Without another word Sanji jumped on his horse and sped into the opposite direction of Doflamingo’s ship.

 

“ _Oyé! ¿A donde vas, Blackleg?"_  Portgas called out after him.

 

Tunnel vision. Sanji saw nothing but rolling hills and vegetation. It all sped past him in a blur.

 

He wasn’t going to stop until he reached La Gran Chichimeca.


	8. Pérdida

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji returns to La Gran Chichimeca and one captain's dreams go south.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't promise weekly updates but there's some LawLu in this chapter if you squint! 
> 
> Also, some violence.

8: Pérdida

 

Air in Sanji's lungs went scarce. Smoke rolled in, clouding his path. His steed neighed out of fear so the Conquistador jumped from the horse and raced through the flames alone.

 

Tipis had been set ablaze. Corpses were piled across scorched Earth. Frantically Sanji searched for any survivors. Flames roared from the Hut of the Elders. Generations of wisdom ended by one of greed.

 

Sanji braced himself for the worst when he found Kuina's home. No one inside. Maybe they had been spared? Sanji sprinted towards where Lucci and Franky had set up camp.

 

Zorro could be there too.

 

More Chichimecan victims on the ground clinging to life. Sanji went frantic, screaming for Izel.  

 

When he found her, she was on the ground facing up, brown eyes looking to the heavens. Her hands held an arrow that had flown straight into her chest.

 

Horrified, Sanji slid her eyelids closed and prayed against her braided scalp. He then removed the bow from Izel’s no longer beating heart.

 

Sanji discovered slain Spanish soldiers nearby. Someone had retaliated. Kuina. Her blood-stained bow in one hand, she too lied lifeless on the ground. A stab wound had took her. To the bitter end she had fought. Sanji placed her body next to Izel's so they could ascend into the afterlife as mother and daughter.

 

Taking Kuina’s bow and Izel’s arrow, Sanji listlessly marched to Lucci's tent. Zorro lied collapsed in a pool of his own blood. _Mille Fleur_ was not far from him. The Chichimecan had taken Lucci on but apparently lost. Lucci did not emerge unscathed, however. The missionary’s injuries slowed his escape. Sanji stood at the entrance of the tent Lucci was crawling for.

 

“Blackleg!" Lucci shouted in shock. " _No_ _debería estar aquí_ —"

 

Sanji stomped onto Lucci’s hand. The lieutenant screamed in pain.

 

"Wait, the savage! H-he's alive!" Lucci exclaimed.

 

Sanji tore his eyes away from Lucci to see Zorro stirring. A deep slash rested in the middle of his torso.  He was alive, barely.

 

Sanji's blue eyes narrowed into slits as he took aim for Lucci’s cranium. The wretched lieutenant pleaded for his life.

 

"If you kill me, it's treason!"

 

Sanji discarded his bow. Relief came over Lucci but disappeared when Sanji knelt near him and whispered, “Then I am no longer a Spaniard,” and plunged the arrow in his grip into the lieutenant's throat. Sanji's fist stilled the same time Lucci’s convulsing body did. Carnage pooled underneath them both.

 

This was different from killing rabbits. Sanji's stomach twisted into knots. To him Kuina and Izel had been avenged but his superiors would think of his as a traitor. Remembering that Zorro was still breathing made him run to the Chichimecan.

 

"I came back. I'm here now." Sanji cradled him. The Chichimecan’s left eye had been damaged. Only one ebony pupil stared back.

 

A blink. He was holding on. Sanji ripped off his own shirt to use as a tourniquet. He wanted to carry Zorro, the same way Zorro had carried him out of the ocean. They couldn't leave Mexico. Cocodrilo's presence in the seas wasn't to be underestimated. They'd have to go East.

 

To the capital.

  
  
  
  
  
  


"Your chest has mostly healed."

 

Healed? From there no pain radiated.

 

Lupe sat up but small hands urged him to lie back down. Chopper, his physician. The brunette doctor was missing an ear and a large scar ran along his cheek. "Glad you're awake, Captain."

 

Wine and bread wafted in the air. They were on a ship. How?

 

_"¿Dónde estamos, Chopper?"_

 

Frowning, Chopper's temperament went from welcoming to daunting. "We were saved by pirates—"

 

"No—"

 

"Working under King Francis."

 

Lupe clenched a fist. "Why did you let them _take_ us?!"

 

"We were floating shark bait out there, Lupe!” Before their disagreement could escalate any further, a ruckus above them on deck sounded. Sensing that yet another storm had come to replay the traumatic memories in Lupe’s mind, the captain jumped out of his cot and climbed up the creaky steps of the ship’s belly.

 

It wasn’t a thunderstorm. Crewmen were ladling treasure chests overflowing with gold into satchels. Lupe limped to the radiant mountains of precious metal. The only cure to the illness of a Spaniard's heart, as Cortés famously said. Lupe held a heavy coin in his hand. He noticed that his right thumb was gone.

 

“That doesn’t belong to you,” a man standing a head taller than Lupe approached. His sleepless eyes glared at both the money in Lupe's hands and Lupe himself.  

 

"The New World belongs to Spain. All of this gold is stolen." Lupe tossed the coin back in the pile. A nearby seaman noticed the pair conversing and greeted the frenchman as "Captain Trafalgar."

 

Chopper scurried to Lupe. "You still need to rest. You've been in a coma for weeks!" He stepped aside when Trafalgar reached out and touched Lupe's sternum.

 

"There was nothing but a gaping wound here when I pulled your body from the ocean."

 

Lupe slapped Trafalgar's arm away. "Just because you saved me from the sea doesn't mean you _own_ me, thief!"

 

Imploring both captains to not start a scuffle, Chopper pulled Lupe away from the heated exchange. "You have no idea what's going on. Instead of acting on impulse, I suggest you start listening to me!"

 

"I'm a Conquistador. Not a prisoner to a filthy country of thieves!"

 

"These _thieves_ are holding us hostage to save one of their own. If we comply, you might actually live to see the city Cortés conquered."

 

Lupe resumed watching the ship's crew organize their stolen riches. "Where did they even get this from?"

 

"They robbed Velásquez's estate in _Santiago de Cuba._ He refused to tell them where the King is holding their friend prisoner."

 

The situation gave Lupe a headache. He retired to his cell below. Who did that Trafalgar think he was? Distraught, Lupe placed his head in his palms. No tears came. No cry formed in his throat.

 

He felt entirely numb.

 

Footsteps pounded nearby. Lupe thought it was Chopper coming down to assess his condition again but it was Captain Trafalgar. He bitterly muttered to the frenchman, “You should have left us to die.”

 

“I would have. But I saw the opportunity to save my comrade. We’ll see if Spain is as loyal to you as I am to France.”

 

“And you’re going to ransom me for whom?”

 

Captain Trafalgar explained how two years ago Juan Florín sank a treasure ship in possession of Cortés. Florín served as the leader for a crew of pirates commissioned by King Francis to disrupt Spain’s monopoly on the New World. Months ago Spanish naval forces commanded by a General Cocodrilo supposedly captured the pirate. It had been Velasquez’s orders. King Francis named Trafalgar D. Water Law as temporary captain until further notice.

 

“We'll take you to _Ciudad México_ and retrieve Florín in exchange for your life." Law consumed a bottle of liquor he had in hand before handing it to Lupe.

 

"What about my doctor, Chopper?" He took a desperate swig. Lupe couldn't tell if he was lightheaded from the alcohol or the second hand kiss.

 

"He's underutilized by you. After he helped me treat your wounds I agreed to keep him as a physician here."

 

God was not letting him keep anything. His ship, his crew, all gone. In the end the only thing he made it out of that shipwreck with was his soul. But even that was slipping away from him.

 

Law's hand was on his star-shaped scar once more. This time Lupe let the other observe it, tissue beneath the damage long dead. _"¿No sientes nada aquí?"_

 

_"Nada,"_ Lupe confirmed, draining the rest of Trafalgar's bottle into his mouth and taking a hard swallow. "When you found us, you didn't see the body of a man with a golden cross around his neck?"

 

"There were many bodies but I saw no such man," Lupe didn't protest when he felt Law's fingertips resting on his hips. "We tried saving as many as we could." Law applied light pressure to the other captain's hipbone.

 

Lupe saw a mixture of concern and contempt in  Law's stare. It was unexpected to see a pirate show more humanity than Spain's own Royal Navy. Had the situation been in reverse, Lupe would not have hesitated to have Law hanged by the neck. Lupe was going to make Law regret ever trusting the enemy.

 

He knew exactly how he was going to get everything back. God be damned.

 

"Do you feel this?" Law asked. More pressure on Lupe's hip.

 

"No," Lupe lied.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for the next chapter!


End file.
